Archive for February, 2010

Usually by the end of February I am so excited for winter, with its snow and cold, to be over. I’m probably not like the rest of my friends; I do love a good winter snow storm. Of course I feel that way about ALL weather, my fascination started when I was about nine years old and we experienced an F4 tornado in my hometown. Since then, any major weather event piques my curiosity and gets my blood moving. As I have said many times before, “You gotta make your own fun”. Fun, of course, being a relative term.

Maybe I wouldn’t feel the same excitement if I was out with my snow shovel trying to get my driveway cleaned. But I still feel a sense of joyful anticipation when the weatherman tells us that a major winter snowstorm is headed this way. This actually sets off a strange Pavlovian response in me: I hightail it to the grocery store to buy a gallon of milk. I continue this process each day until the storm arrives and it was just recently that I noticed that we had four gallons of milk in the fridge. This is a sickness, what should I do with all that milk now that they downgraded our storm to a Trace-1″? Can they legally do that? But what about all my milk?? I think that I am going to be making massive quantities of pudding.

What I need to tell you is that I do not like the cold at all. I have not been out of the house in many days, other than to take the kids to school or to a random appointment. The sun feels great, and sitting in the sun on the kitchen floor seems to help my self-diagnosed SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). I wonder what happens when my SAD comes up against my PMS? Will it be the clash of the acronyms? I don’t think that it will be pretty in any case, so stay tuned for that story. Anyway, I digress; can I please just ask for a drastic warm-up? Who is in charge? Where can I file my complaints? Enough already!

So, when I ventured into my utility room this morning to start a load of laundry, I had quite a shock. I had tossed a small load of whites into the dryer last night and then I forgot to start the darn thing. By the time I went to get the clothes out today, I can tell you with all disdain and disgust…they were frozen in clumps in the dryer. As I turned on the dryer a bumping sound came from the wedges of icy clothes that were tumbling around. Now that is cold, Iowa style!

What is our other option? If we live in Iowa, these are things that you must think about in addition to feeling the joy of your nose freezing together, slipping and falling on your rear end at the grocery store (on your way to get the 5th gallon of milk), and trying to dig your mailbox out of a snow bank so that you can find your mail. (This is sort of like the game, “Button, button, whose got the button?” but it’s more like, “Mail, mail, where the HELL is my mail?!” You have to use that tone in keeping with my Iowa winter theme.)

Keep in mind, dear reader, it will only be mere months and we will be eating sweet corn, hearing the sizzle of good Iowa beef on the grill and heading to the Iowa State Fair where some of the best Epicurean delights in the world are found on a Stick. Ever had corn dog on a stick? Of course you have, how American is that!? But what about a fried Twinkie on a Stick, or a Fried Snickers bar on a Stick? Ever heard of a fried pickle on a Stick or a big hunk o’ cheese, fried and on a stick? Oh man, you know if it’s fried and on a Stick it’s going to be good. Welcome to Iowa, the Land of Food on a Stick. Our pioneer ancestors would be so proud. These were people so poor they didn’t have Sticks. We Iowans have come a long way, Baby! Perhaps someone should suggest that the Iowa slogan should be: “All Good Things, Fried and on a Stick” instead of Fields of Opportunities. It works better, don’t you think?

Maybe I will go see if I can make some pudding on a stick. Wait, aren’t those called Fudgesicles? Well anyway, if you have a recipe for fried milk on a stick let me know, I need something to do while I am stuck here in my house.

Listen, I care about “You People”, my Facebook Friends, but let’s put a few things in perspective.

I have never lived on a farm, I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to raise farm chickens, pigs or sheep. Why are you asking me to help you, to become your hired help on the Farm? I care about you, but do you really need me to help you get a chicken coop? If I had to worry each night whether my animals were safe from the big, bad wolf I’d be more of an emotional mess than I already am. Who the heck needs that pressure?

What is this FishVille business? Those of you who know me know that I don’t eat fish or anything from the water. I am not a likely person to help you find coins so together we can buy fish for your aquarium. Bless your heart, you can fill your own dang aquarium with as many fish as you want, just don’t ask me for coins to fill it. That sounds like some sort of a government entitlement program. If you want fish why don’t you go out and get a job at a fish hatchery to get the coins so you can buy the damn Fish? Or maybe they will give you fish for all your hard work. Don’t ask me to help you, I love you, but I need you to help yourself. It is the American Way!

And no, I am not going to take an IQ test and then post the results on Facebook, so when you are thinking of friends to send an IQ request, please skip me. It obviously could turn out one of two ways: one, my IQ will turn out to be real low and you will say privately to yourself, “Yes, I expected as much. I’ve seen signs along the way” or “I really had no idea that she is so brilliant. Well, I guess that shows that she is not living up to her full potential being on Facebook all the time. Why isn’t she off writing grant papers, committing random acts of world peace or feeding people from the bounty of her FarmVille garden?” It’s not a winning test for me so I protest and refuse to take it.

Why would anyone take a survey to find out what breed of Dog that you are? ‘Well, I am feeling sort of like a bassett hound around my jowls, a pug in my layers of body fat; however, my skinny legs are best represented by a Doberman Pincher.’ That should be obvious to all of you; if it’s not I invite you to take a look at my Profile pictures. There are enough double chins posted of me if you sewed them all together you’d get one nice really plush bean bag chair.

Here’s a great one that popped up on me today: “Find out which of your Facebook Friends answered a Q & A test about you!” So you immediately click on that button because you want to know who knows you so well and then you see that they are answering questions like these: Do you trust Korky Gries with your life? Do you think Korky Gries has ever smoked before? Do you think that Korky Gries is cute?” and here is my favorite, “Do you think that Korky Gries can eat three Big Macs?” followed directly by, “Do you think Korky Gries can eat three Big Macs?” Like, if they asked it the first time and the person said ‘No’ do you need to ask it again, ’cause maybe they changed their mind? “Yes, come to think of it, she probably can eat three Big Macs. She seems like the kind”.

You are passing me slices of cake, asking me to join in a pillow fight, demanding to know what kind of a Sexy Lady am I, and then flinging lasagna at me. I feel violated, is there a self-help group for me? I also feel like this is a bad dream about my junior high years in Ankeny, Iowa. This smacks of the slumber party game, “Truth, Dare, Double Dare, Promise or Repeat” that I played one-too-many times at slumber parties back in the day. This game was played right before you had toothpaste squeezed down your pants, had your bra frozen, or called boys and told them to come to so-and-so’s house so they could talk to you through the basement window. “Light as a feather, stiff as a board!” and up to the ceiling you went because you were obviously propelled there by the ghosts of slumber parties past.

I’m sorry my dear Facebook Friends, I must be a huge disappointment to you all. As you can see, I would not pass, “DOCTOR PHIL’S PERSONALITY TEST”. Help us, I think I’ll just let my Facebook Friends find out that I am not a joiner the ‘natural’ Facebook way. Please do not be offended if I don’t send you bricks for your farm, come to your corn shuckin’ or barn raising, send you coins for Fiery Fish Tacos that I can sell in my Cafe or pass you a holiday cocktail. I’d be glad to pass you a cocktail in real life, but over the computer? People!!! What seems to be wrong with this picture?’

I enjoy Facebook and I check my messages each day. I just wanted to say to you that I am starting to feel a little inadequate since I don’t have a clue on half of the stuff all y’all are sending me to join. “Do you think Korky Gries is a good friend? Do you think Korky Gries is a good friend?” Hope this gets answered in the positive, otherwise I’m going to develop some sort of an inferiority complex.

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